Sundown
by JGallowayWriter
Summary: Hermione struggles to come to terms with the end of the war. Ron's attempts to help go unnoticed, whilst Hermione becomes more and more self-destructive.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: Good evening all. Or good morning, depending on when you are reading this...**_

 _ **You've found my new fic! I hope you like it. It will be updated weekly. I stick to deadlines now. Deadlines are cool.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Harry Potter universe and I'm not making any money from this.**_

* * *

Hermione hadn't realised how much she'd been thrashing about until Ron's swearing woke her up.

"What happened?!" she asked, sitting bolt upright in the dark room.

"You kicked me in the balls," Ron replied through gritted teeth.

"Oh. I forgot we weren't in the tent anymore," she whispered as she remembered where she was.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Harry had defeated Tom Riddle; many people who had fought in the final battle were now sleeping in the hospital wing, which had magically expanded to fit the demand.

Ron and Hermione had squeezed into one bed, which seemed bigger now than it had when they had first collapsed into it, hours earlier.

"No need to say sorry," Ron griped when he realised an apology was not forthcoming.

"Sorry," Hermione said absent-mindedly whilst taking in her surroundings.

Looking at her wrist watch, she was surprised to see that it was one in the afternoon. She realised that a charm must've been cast to allow people to sleep without daylight to disturb them.

Every bed was occupied and Hermione noticed several people checking on the patients. She presumed they were healers from St. Mungo's. One bed had a curtain drawn around it, but Hermione could tell that several people were tending to the patient behind it; there was a great deal of hurried whispering.

Before long, the curtain was drawn back and the bed and its occupant were levitating forward, a group of healers walking alongside. Hermione wasn't normally the nosy type, but she found herself straining her neck to catch a glimpse of whoever required so much medical attention. However, the healers were also acting as a human shield.

The sound of snoring told Hermione that Ron had gone back to sleep. She lay back down alongside him, but sleep eluded her as the events of the last day, week, month, year swirled around her mind. She couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that had manifested within her during the course of the last seven years.

At first, it had felt like an adventure, trying to stop Snape (or so they had thought at the time) from stealing the philosopher's stone. She'd enjoyed all of the research that she'd carried out to figure out what was going on that year. It wasn't until Ron had sacrificed himself in that game of chess that she'd started to realise that they were potentially risking their lives.

The following year had been no better, and by the time she'd completed her third year at Hogwarts, she'd come to realise, and accept, that her life was going to be in danger until such a time s Voldemort had been defeated.

The last year had certainly been the toughest; the long days in the tent with nothing to do but get on each other's nerves had sometimes left Hermione questioning whether they'd ever make any progress. She'd never voiced her concerns, of course, for fear of discouraging the boys.

Sighing as she realised that she wouldn't be getting any more sleep, Hermone slipped out of the bed and made her way to the Great Hall. She'd slept in the clothes that she'd been wearing since arriving in Hogsmeade the previous night, but didn't feel self concious about it as she might have done on any other day.

The mood in the hall was sombre. Last night's victims had been removed, but their families remained. Hermione glanced around, and saw members of the Weasley family gathered in a corner. Ginny was asleep in an armchair, with Percy sat on the arm. Mr and Mrs Weasley were both staring into space, their eyes red and puffy. She couldn't bring herself to approach them, preferring to leave them to grieve as a family.

Instead, Hermione wandered into the castle grounds. It was a warm day, the sun beating down from a cloudless sky. She made her way down to the lake, trying to block the memories of last night from her mind. She was relieved to see Harry sitting under a large oak tree on the bank of the lake.

He looked up as she approached and gave his friend a sad smile. Hermione sat next to him and held his hand as they both gazed out at the lake.

"Did you sleep at all?" she finally asked him.

"A bit. Not well though. You?" Harry replied.

"Same. I accidentally kicked Ron in a sensitive area though," she added with a chuckle.

Harry smiled briefly at his friend's plight.

"I didn't want anyone to die for me, Hermione," he said quietly.

Hermione considered Harry's statement for a moment before replying.

"They didn't die for you, Harry. They died for their families, and their futures. Whether You Know Who had tried to kill you or not, he would still have been seeking power, may even have found it without having you as a distraction."

"My mum and dad died for me..."

"As any parent would to protect their child."

Harry thought about Lupin and Tonks dying for Teddy. He thought about the Dursleys and the Malfoys, and knowing they would all do anything to protect their sons.

"You were prepared to die for the entire world," Hermione continued. "So no one is going to think any less of you because of our losses. Our gains far outweigh the sacrifices. We all knew the risks of fighting alongside you, but we also knew the risks of not fighting. It's cruel that we lost family and friends. But we have the ability to make new friends and family because of those sacrifices. By dwelling on those that we've lost, we undermine them. They died for nothing. Its not going to be easy, Harry, but we should honour their memories. For the first time in seven years, we don't have to fight; we can live."

Whilst Harry was considering her words, Hermione had the realisation that there was nothing for her to do any more, and that she had no idea what to do next. Once the fallout from the battle was over, once appropriate funerals and memorials had taken place, she had no plans, no timetable, no deadlines.

The empty feeling she had experienced since waking earlier now turned into a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. She felt her heartbeat quickening, and before she could stop herself, her whole body was shaking from wracking sobs and tears fell freely down her face.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N Okay, so deadlines are hard and it's been ten days rather than a week since I posted the first chapter. But I still stand by what I said - deadlines are cool.**_

 _ **Enjoy.**_

* * *

A week had passed since the death of Tom Riddle. Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken up the post of Interim Minister of Magic until such time as an election could be held. It was he who had taken on the task of notifying the families of the deceased. It was he who had banned the Daily Prophet from harassing the survivors, taking on the responsibility of ensuring the newspaper printed the facts.

The wizarding world was left reeling not just from the tragic losses but the heroic actions of Severus Snape. Harry had been adamant that his former professor's name was cleared.

He'd also paid a visit to the Malfoy residence to ensure that the remorse they had shown at the end of the battle had been genuine. He would never forget the risk Narcissa had taken to ensure her son was safe. He used that to clear the Malfoy name.

* * *

Hermione lay in bed listening to Ron's snores mingled with the sounds of the chattering birds outside. A sliver of sunlight shone through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the bookshelf opposite the foot of the bed. Staring at the spines of her book collection, Hermione thought of the day ahead.

There was to be a memorial service at Hogwarts, to honour the fallen. She hoped it would provide some closure for herself. She'd barely slept for a week and she was aware of how irritable it had made her. Books, her eternal source of comfort, hadn't helped; nor had the many Weasley dinners. The family was slowly putting itself back together. Of course they were in mourning, but the love and support of one another was clearly helping them; Ron was still eating like a pig, Ginny was still her ferocious self. Charlie and Bill had been a big help for George who was still making fun of Percy. She could still see the sadness in their eyes, but she could also see their togetherness. They were closer now than ever.

Kingsley had promised to help find Hermione's parents once today was over. She was grateful for the offer; she wasn't sure she'd be able to do it alone.

Ron shifted in his sleep, pulling Hermione closer to him. The action made her feel claustrophobic as Ron's arm around her torso was dead weight. She picked his arm up and moved it none too gently onto his own body, waking the redhead up in the process. He nuzzled up to her, leaving a trail of soft kisses along Hermione's neck.

"Stop it," Hermione moaned.

"Ah, come on 'Mione," Ron replied, his voice thick with sleep.

"No, it tickles," Hermione protested, pushing him away.

"Alright, I get it," Ron said, undettered. He moved his focus to her hear, which annoyed Hermione even more.

"Get the hint!" she yelled, getting out of her childhood bed.

Picking up her clothes from the chair under the window, she stormed out, heading for the bathroom to get changed.

Ron lay in bed, bewildered by his girlfriend's reaction. He'd heard from the boys at Hogwarts that witches were responsive to attention on the neck.

"You should start getting ready, Ron," Hermione said as she returned to the room. "We've got to be there at ten."

"It's only half seven," Ron protested, as Hermione opened the curtains, bathing the room in bright sunlight. "I was hoping we could-"

"No, Ron," Hermione interrupted assertively.

"Well, when, Hermione?" he asked, getting out of bed.

Hermione sighed, sick of this conversation already.

"When I'm ready."

"Which'll be...?"

"I don't know Ronald! Stop pressuring me!" Hermione could feel her frustrations boiling up inside of her. Sex had been the last thing on her mind. Ron seemed to be desperate for it, but the young witch felt that there were more important things going on.

"I'm sorry," Ron mumbled, realising he'd pushed too hard. He rounded the bed and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, who leant her head against his bare chest, silent tears falling down her cheeks.

Feeling the moisture, Ron pulled away to look Hermione in the face.

"Hey," he said gently. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't need this right now. Not today," Hermione whispered after a moment.

"It's okay," Ron replied, kissing the witch's forehead. "You're right. I'm being inconsiderate. I'm sorry."

He hugged her tighter, feeling a complete tool. He'd not meant to upset her.

* * *

Two hours later, Ron and Hermione's feet touched down behind The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, having apparated from Hermione's back garden. They proceeded to make their way towards Hogwarts, hand in hand.

Arriving at the castle, they made their way to the Great Hall, which was filled with rows upon rows of chairs, most of them already filled. It seemed as if the whole wizarding community was in attendance. _They probably are_ , Hermione reminded herself.

At the top of the hall, various ministry officials and Order of the Phoenix members were seated, ready to make various speeches, Harry amongst them. Drapes hung from the ceiling, enchanted to cycle through pictures of the deceased.

Ron and Hermione took their seats at the front of the hall, sitting next to Neville on one side and Luna on the other; as Hermione glanced along the front row, it was filled with the remaining DA members.

Moments later, Kingsley Shacklebolt took to the Headmaster's podium, put his wand to his throat to magnify his voice and cleared his throat. The hall immediately went silent.

"Good morning and thank you all for coming. The last twenty years have been a trying time for all of us. Some of you here today don't even know a time of peace. But last week, that changed. By working together, we were all able to come together and rid the world of the biggest evil ever seen. Now that we can all rest easy, we must remember the sacrifices we made to get here. There are heroes that couldn't be here today – our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers. And while we'll always remember them, their selflessness must not be in vain. Let's build a new world in which our children and grandchildren and their grandchildren can live and love peacefully."

A round of applause broke out around the hall.

"Before we take a moment of silence for our fallen comrades, Hogwarts headmistress, Minerva McGonagall will read their names," Kingsley continued as the applause died down. He took a seat as McGonagall took her place at the podium.

"The following are the known victims of Tom Riddle's brutal regime of terror. Sirius Black. Broderick Bode. Amelia Bones. Charity Burbage. Colin Creevey. Dirk Cresswell. Cedric Diggory. Albus Dumbledore. Florean Fortescue. Bertha Jorkins. Remus Lupin. Alastor Moody. Rufus Scrimgeour. Edward Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks. Emmeline Vance. Fred Weasley. Nigel Wolpert. Benjy Fenwick. Marlene McKinnon. Dorcas Meadowes. James Potter. Lily Potter. Fabian Prewett. Gideon Prewett.

"Please, raise your wands and take a moment to remember their sacrifices."

* * *

Hermione glanced around the hall as she left her seat at the end of the speeches. She was surprised to see an ebony clad figure stood at the back of the hall. She turned her head to alert Ron, but when she looked back, he had vanished. Her eyes scanned the room looking for him, but to no avail. She was well aware of the risks he had taken for the war efforts, but no one had seen him since the final battle. All they knew was that he'd been taken to St. Mungo's with severe injuries.

Shrugging off the disappearance of the former headmaster, she and Ron moved across the hall to speak with Harry and Kingsley, whilst the room was rearranged for lunch to be served.

* * *

The day had been trying for Hermione. As soon as she and Ron returned to her childhood home, she immediately went to bed, hoping that she might get some sleep. Ron, of course, slept straight away, probably aided by the copious amounts of Butterbeer he consumed throughout the day.

Hermione still had issues falling asleep however as the words from today swam around her head. Tears fell freely down her face as she remembered the victims who would never see the free world they'd helped create.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: This was a really difficult chapter to write. I hope you enjoy it!**_

* * *

Hermione woke with a start. Someone had been yelling. She looked around the room and realised it had been herself screaming in the throes of a nightmare. Noting Ron's absence, she assumed that he'd gone out; he would've come running if he'd heard her screaming.

At the thought of being alone, however, she felt as though her stomach had dropped a couple of inches. Her train of thought as quick as her breathing, she couldn't stop thinking of the death eaters coming for her. Or Ron not coming back, having been taken by the death eaters himself.

Tears filled her eyes as the walls closed in around her and she knew she had to get somewhere safe. Closing her eyes, she thought of the safest place she knew, and felt the familiar tug of apparition. Opening her eyes, she suddenly felt at home, although mildly surprised that it worked. Taking deep breaths, the smell of the books filled her nostrils, calming her down. She'd spent many an evening here, working on essays.

It dawned on Hermione that she now had the opportunity to read whichever books took her fancy. She made her way to the first shelf in the library, picking out the first few books and taking them to a table near the window so she could see out onto the grounds.

* * *

It was only as the words were becoming illegible on the page that Hermione even considered how long she'd been reading. Darkness was consuming the room, creating almost intimidating shadows. She looked out the window and saw the light from Hagrid's hut glowing in the black of the night.

Hermione used her wand to light some nearby candles, affording her some extra reading time. Hours passed unbeknown to Hermione, and she attempted to ignore her drooping eyelids, and her inability to focus on what she was reading.

"Let's get that dirty blood out of your filthy body," Bellatrix whispered menacingly, her knife cutting down Hermione's arm; once at the wrist, the psychotic witch twisted the blade causing the younger witch to cry out in agony.

"Miss Granger," a deep voice cut through the darkness. The pain subsided slightly, as the voice repeated itself. "Miss Granger, would you mind telling me why you see fit to sleep in the school library?"

Hermione's eyes flicked open, startled to find her former potions professor looming over her, dressed in his usual black attire, with the addition of a white neck brace.

Rubbing her eyes, she looked out of the window to see the black sky paling on the horizon.

"You do understand, Miss Granger, that you are currently trespassing on school property? As I am no longer headmaster, regrettably, I do not have the power to have you ejected."

Hermione felt as though her stomach had dropped an inch inside of her. She didn't want to leave her sanctuary.

"So I suggest," the professor continued. "That you go home, get some proper sleep. When you return, I'll show you how to brew an effective draught of living death. I doubt Slughorn's tuition was up to scratch. Go."

With that, Professor Snape swept out of the library.

* * *

The minute she walked through the front door, Ron had wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm so glad you're ok!" the redhead cried.

Bewildered, Hermione attempted to pull away, only to have Ron to increase his hold on her.

"Ron. Ron! I need you to let me go. Ron, I can't breathe!"

He finally let her go, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead as they parted.

"You weren't there when I woke up. I got scared," the witch explained.

"I've not left the house without you, 'Mione. I was down here the whole time. I came down here to get some sleep; your nightmares had you thrashing around so much I had no room to sleep. The screaming didn't help either."

For reasons she couldn't fathom, this enraged Hermione.

"Oh, ok. So instead of thinking 'hmm, maybe Hermione needs a hug and reassurance' you decided to leave me alone with my nightmares? Just so you could get some sleep, something I've struggled with for the last three weeks, whilst you could sleep for bloody England!"

"Yeah, so I don't have to listen to your constant crying!" Ron retorted.

"What?! You think I can help that? I would to stop feeling like that. I wish I could stop seeing Bellatrix LeStrange when I close my eyes. I wish I could stop seeing our dead friends when I close my eyes. I wish I could stop seeing Tom Riddle, and Scabior and Fenrir when I close my eyes!"

"Well, maybe you should do something other than lie in bed all day!"

"Like what, Ron? There are no deadlines, no horcruxes. What's even the point of getting out of bed?"

"Don't you see, 'Mione? We're free now. We can do whatever we want; visit friends, go to Diagon Alley or even get a job. A job would be a good idea, seeing as we're running low on food. You know I don't have the funds for that."

"So why aren't you getting a job?"

"I've been offered several, and by the looks of it so have you, if you ever bothered to open your bloody mail! Although you probably can't see it under the mess this house is."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you haven't fucking cleaned a thing since we got here!"

"You could clean if it bothers you that much."

"Why should I? It's not my house!"

Hermione was gobsmacked.

"Fine. Get out!"

"Fine!"

With that, Ron stormed out, the slamming of the front door echoing throughout the house. Hermione stared at the door, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Eventually, she moved to the living room, crying on the couch until sleep finally took over.

* * *

Evening sunlight shone across Hermione's face, rousing her from sleep. The emptiness she'd felt on Ron's departure immediately hit her.

She vacated the sofa and went to bed, sleeping until dawn. The isolation she felt had not eased, and, not noticing the two owls waiting patiently at her bedroom window, she wandered aimlessly around the house, at a loss as to what to do. She found herself staring at the ceiling, as she lay across her parents' empty bed. As though her mind had given up, she slept for the rest of the day.

In the days that followed, she followed much the same routine, sleeping in most of the rooms of her house at some point. She lost track of days, and most days she wouldn't eat. Most of her waking time was spent staring at the walls. Even tears refused to fall as she became more and more numb. What was even the point any more?

She ignored knocks at the door of the house, knowing it would just be people trying to sell her things, no one caring if she answered or not. Post and newspapers piled up in the hallway. Lights were rarely on, the curtains rarely opened. What was the point?

She still suffered nightmares, but as time wore on, she lived for them. At least she felt _something_ when she dreamt. What was point in being awake any more?

Another knock at the door roused her from her thoughts as she lay on the couch. She ignored it, not taking notice the lateness of the hour. Even the sound of the door being opened didn't bother her. So what if it was a burglar or a serial killer? What was the point?


End file.
